Hush, Hush
by Urchin of the Riding Stars
Summary: After Ms. Keene leaves the Professor for Bellum, the Professor spirals down a dark depression, which opens up a new world of secrets for the PPG-secrets no one should ever keep. When life goes from bad to worse, can the girls be saved from their silence?


Hush, Hush

After Ms. Keene leaves the Professor for Bellum, the Professor spirals down a dark depression, which opens up a new world of secrets for the PPG-secrets no one, NO ONE, must ever, ever find out. When life goes from bad to worse, can the girls be saved from their own silence?

Warning: OC, and lots of Utonium bashing. He's honestly not a bad father, but to be frank, he always struck me as a bit of a jerk for whatever reason...*Sighs.*

Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own, so please don't sue.

* * *

><p>There wasn't a doubt about it; it WAS a shame.<p>

The girls had worked so hard for so long playing matchmaker for their Creator and Father and their beloved preschool teacher. Watching them exchange gentle goodnight kisses outside the house when Ms. Keene dropped the Professor off had inspired a series of giggles and quiet sighs, with thoughts that had even Buttercup blushing...and hoping. Feverently hoping.

How wonderful would it be if the Professor finally found someone to love! He'd never been able to find a woman he'd had such a rapport with in his youth, though the man was quite handsome, even in his late thirties. Utonium had instead established a romance with his science, which, for the most part, had had answers to the questions that had tormented him concerning his own loneliness. After all, it was the same desire to appease that loneliness and to make the world a better place that had lead to the birth of Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup.

It also would have been delightful to have a Mother. While Blossom insisted on how important work was to the Professor, even she felt raw disappointment in the evenings the man scribbled an absentminded note on an empty table to microwave supper without him. A mother could also love, and while the man was indeed quite a loving soul, even Bubbles could not deny the number of times she'd been turned away in the night after suffering a bad dream. The Professor so often worked late into the evening, and beyond a pat on the head, did not truly know what to do with a crying child other than offer the occasional condolescence.

Besides, while the man regularly reminded them how proud he was of his girls, and called them his greatest creation yet, the term could get just a little insulting. While Utonium was understandably boastful of his successful mechanism of Life, it made the girls feel just a little bit like dolls whenever the man started to rant about the girls' genetic structure at a Dinner Party to other, scrutinizing scientists.

A Mother would be the perfect balance-setter. Someone to attend school plays, even when the girls were cast as trees, forest animals, or the unconvential tree stump. Someone to talk to when the girls were truly confused about something, or wished to commiserate with. Someone to break up fights, instead of offer weary 'Girls, girls. Enough.'

And the Professor would smile more often, perhaps smoke less, and be a happier person in love. That's what the Bedtime stories he used to read to them so often stipulated. A Prince would come for his Princess, and everyone would live joyously ever after. Ms. Keene was the dream Mommy-someone to treat them like little girls, rather than simply heroes.

But alas, that had fallen short. After the two had started dating once again, Ms. Keene had guiltily broke the relationship off just as the Professor asked her to marry her. She'd tearfully confessed that she'd been seeing someone else.

Ms. Bellum.

Of all people! But when she'd begged for the mutinous man's forgiveness, he'd simply ignored her tears and her condolences, her offer to remain as good friends.

But Utonium was not to be consoled. Nor could he say anything at all.

At last, she had no other choice but to leave him underneath the flickering lamplights, where the girls watched over him with large eyes in the darkness in a trash-strewn alley in Townsville.

Only after it had started raining did Blossom timidly venture out, tug on her Father's hand, and attempt to tug him back home with a gentle word.

But the man had only stared at her like the genius puff were a stranger, whip his hand out of hers, and leave the girls alone on an empty street corner.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

But the Professor had dated other women before...though a number of them, like Medusa, had been...less than desirable, prospective wives and mothers. He would get over it. He would try again. He would heal.

That's what Bubbles thought when she draped a blanket over her Father's shoulders, and quietly soared out of the lab the following afternoon. He was sleeping, and for whatever reason, didn't stir when she'd prodded him. His hair was messy, his skin was pallid, his clothes were in shambles, and he smelled very peculiar. Had he been experimenting with a new pedigree of chemical all night?

Bubbles wondered this aloud to her sisters when they helped themselves to Frozen French toast sticks early the next morning. They hadn't known, either.

Still, if the man were back to work already, it was quite a good sign, they all agreed. So they flew to school that morning, and sat alone and passive at their table during Parent Day. Bubbles played with Octi, unwilling to say much, whereas Buttercup drummed her fingers on the table, and ssent dagger-like scowls in the direction of anyone who shot them a curious or sympathetic glance. Blossom only worked on keeping a smile on her face, which, while shoddy and shaky, stayed.

When asked about Utonium's whereabouts, the girls claimed that the man was sick at home with a cold. Ms. Keene's eyes had widened, and than narrowed suspiciously.

However, she thankfully left the girls alone without another word, which was a relief. While the truth sounded a little funny, certainly it wasn't right to rag on one's own father.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

He'll get better soon.

That's what Blossom thought as she carefully placed a hot little cup of tea in front of the man as he pored over notes and calculations with almost delirious enthusiam. He actually hadn't changed his clothes or showered in the past few days, a feat which the neat Puff found a little gross, but her Psychology textbooks warned her that people were prone to get very depressed for days on end after a breakup.

The words 'For Days on end' certainly left her spirits a little dampened, but that was okay, really. Somehow, it would be.

Biting her lip, she cleared her throat, but the man didn't seem to hear her. He was still bent over his desk, wielding a protractor as he feversiously scripted out his calculations.

"P-Professor? Um...we don't have much left in the cabinet, but I also made you some soup." As if holding a peace offering, she extended the tray, looking hopeful.

"Um...I might have burned it a little, but Bubbles can eat it without gagging-Buttercup's just being a drama queen."

The man grunted. Blossom swished the tile floor with her foot, and placed the tray next to the steaming cup of tea on the desk, which was just a little taller then the young leader. Blossom tried once again.

"So, I guess we'll be grocery, um, shopping soon?"

The man grunted again, and flipped a page in his sketchbook. Blossom stared at him, uncomfortable smile back on her face.

"Good, good! Heh. We actually didn't bring lunch to school again, today-we've told M-Ms. Keene that we started eating really, really huge lunches with the Mayor after school, so we can't spoil our a-appetite."

Why was she trembling? She'd faced monsters stories high with less trepidation. She had to be less silly.

But at last, she seemed to have succeeded to get the Professor's attention. He drew a sigh, and placed his unshaved chin in his hands, normal lucid expression jaded.

"Really?" the man said pleasantly, though his hoarse tone was hiding something brewing under the surface. "Well, if you love it so much with Ms. Keene and Ms. Bellum, why don't you live with those two fagbags?"

Blossom's jaw dropped. Hadn't the Professor told her that name-calling was bad? And just what in the world was a 'fagbag' anyway?

She swallowed, struggling to regain her composure. _Just a joke, just a joke, just a joke_...she told herself, smiling awkwardly once again.

"Ha! I, well, y-y'see...I, um, also got a Gold Star on my Spelling Test, today."

But Utonium had already returned to his work.

"How did Bubbles and Buttercup do?"

Blossom wavered; the Professor graced her with another glance, absentmindedly typing out a figure on his calculator.

"Tell Bubbles that if she continues to plaster our refrigerator with her fingerpaintings, I won't have any other choice but to get rid of them." he said curtly. "She spends enough time on Art-I expect more than a simple 'Good Job' smiley face sticker. As for Buttercup..."

He paused, and his expression darkened somewhat. He leaned towards Blossom, who unconsciously drifted an inch back.

"If she doesn't get a perfect score on her Math, I swear, I'll take away her Punching Bag, and all of her fitness material. And woe betide you girls if you can't get a decent score on Science."

He heaved a heavy, long-suffering groan. "My _God_, Blossom-you missed _three _questions on your quiz? I expected so much more from you."

His voice was curt, his face was torn between a sneer and a scowl. Blossom gulped, and fished around for answers, but Utonium had nodded his head towards the door, looking irritated.

"Get those grades to me. And once I see perfection, than the cupboard will be filled by Tuesday. I promise. If not, than it's your own fault.

Now let me work in peace."

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

But the cabinet, however, did not magically refill itself three days later, on Tuesday. While Buttercup had howled her indignance over the injustice of the Professor's threat, which couldn't possibly be true, anyway-she'd grudgingly sat down with Blossom, and had agreed to let the girl help her with her studying. While in previous sessions, she complained that Blossom was an overbearing, bossy know-it-all who explained things like Buttercup was two years old, she bit her tongue just this once, and the two girls labored on their pink table for two hours each night-the hours the girls could occasionally grasp for themselves when the hotline wasn't shrillly buzzing off the hook. The Mayor, having grown quite comfortable with three little heroines at his service, called them at every moment's trifle or inconveinence. And now that there wasn't much left in the kitchen other than assorted condiments left in the fridge, they weren't faring quite so well in battle as they used to. Mojo Jojo had been quick to notice that Buttercup hadn't been as quick to dodge his pathetic Rojo Rogue Robots, and heartily pressed an offensive sleuth with his stupid Mechanical Death suit that had left her gasping, with purple and red brusies the size of grapefruit of her small body.

Yeah, well, maybe a breakfast of flour, water, and sugar wasn't exactly as great nor as empowering as she hoped it'd be. As much as she had once scorned the Professor's old 'sissy breakfasts' with blueberry pancakes with smiley faces on them, golden eggs, warm toast with jelly, juice (Freshly squeezed, never store bought), and the warm feeling of approval that came with doing your best...

She missed it.

She missed pouting while he wiped at her cuts with that bad smelling stuff that stung on cotton balls. She missed being carried to bed at night when she fell asleep watching Television. Nowadays, the Professor said nothing of bedtime-which, in one way, was a giddying sense of exhiliration to the rebellious Puff-but now, it had become a bit depressing, considering there was now only Blossom to shake awake the exhausted ink-haired member of the team for school and Crime-Fighting in the morning. While she'd fussed when the professor had run a brush through her hair before she went to school, she couldn't deny that her hair WAS now an absolute rat's nest.

Bah. It didn't really matter. All she needed to do was keep fighting. Keep pounding relentlessly on people so easily made into 'bad guys,' and slug out the answers to the questions she silently asked out of creatures.

Fighting was sweet simplicity-it was something she was GOOD at. Her fire would blaze, and on the battlefield, Buttercup became free. Every frustration she'd harbored could become energy to redirect at poor suckers who broke the law. And no yelled at her for it, like when she'd hit Mitch over the head after he cheated at Red Rover.

Buttercup didn't really have many pursuits other than fighting. Blossom got to be a smart, goody little two shoes outside and in battle, and was rewarded for it. Bubbles was a Jack of all Trades of sorts-Art, Singing, Language-there wasn't too much Bubbles wouldn't try.

But Buttercup had fighting. Martial arts, street brawling, kicking tail-it was all good, and such a wonderful way to feel alive!

...well, at least it HAD been. Not so much anymore. Now, she fought 109% more viciously then she used to, landing the Gang Green in the hospital after they robbed a bank after a brutal mauling. She hadn't _meant _to. The Professor had once believed her-been the only one who ever entirely believed that she never wanted to seriously hurt anyone to the point of dying! Ever! Fighting by itself was a merit.

These days, however, a different fight of sorts was going on. At home.

Three weeks had gone by since the Professor and Ms. Keene had broken up, and the man didn't seem to be getting any better. He'd stopped doing their laundy, and the girls had run out of clean clothes. When Bubbles had tried to run the wash herself, the space-cadet had poured in three cups of laundry detergent rather then three tablespoons.

The results? Well, turned out that her sister was called 'Bubbles' for a reason. The girls had been frantic to clean the mess up, because the Professor, in the rare increments that he spent upstair, was unbelievably moody. While he didn't really seem to care about the growing pile of filthy dishes in the sink, he had strange, barking fits that occasionally made Bubbles cry.

While Buttercup had always dismissed her sister as a huge baby, no one was allowed to pick on the blue-eyed puff but her or Blossom. EVER. She'd felt her rage boil underneath the surface, her fists clench as the man stumbled off with a bottle of amber-colored liquid to the lab, and, in her eyes-

Then, a sickeningly jolt had errupted in her tummy, and Buttercup threw her hands over her mouth, green eyes widening with a sense of horror pulsating through her lithe form.

What had she been THINKING? What was she, a MONSTER?

Quick as a whip, the dismayed little girl ran off to the bathroom, not quite making it as she vomited once, feeling the sting of acid burn her sore throat. She thought she might have contracted a cold at some point-if she hadn't fought it off already-but that didn't matter. Buttercup dashed to the bathroom, and proceeded to hurl out the few contents of her stomach into the bowl, face burning, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the painful contractions continued to tightly squeeze around her midriff as she continued to throw up until she was dryly gagging, face a pale, sweating mess.

Of course she was irked at the Professor-he was their Dad! But she'd never, ever want to hurt him. Not like that. He would be okay, soon enough. If only he stopped acting like a sissy.

Buttercup grabbed the side of the door for support, the world still flashing oddly before her eyes, head woozy, eyes unfocused.

Yeah. Just a friendly little punch would knock the Professor to his senses. And everything could go on much as it had before.

Without having to think twice, Buttercup rocketed off in a bolt of electric grin to the Living Room where the Professor was keeled over on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen.

Which, was off.

Coming to a stop, and hovering over her father, Buttercup glared at his unwashed, somewhat shriveled form, feeling resentment burn inside of her. If this was what love really did to people, than what use was falling in love to begin with? She made a mental vow to never do it again-she'd had a fair taste after her ill-fated escapade with the leader of GGG.

She landed on the coffee table, little hands on her hips.

"Okay, that does it. On your feet," she ordered, scowling when the man's unblinking gaze continued onward to empty space.

Mentally smacking herself, Buttercup tried a new tactic.

"We've been working our butts off keeping this place as tidy as we can-aren't ya normally the guy who freaks out and does Spring Cleaning in _November_? Get a move on, Daddy-O. So maybe Ms. Keene ditched ya-ya still got us!"

She sounded a little more accusing than supportive in her last sentence. Utonium said nothing. Then-

"I don't believe it's any of your concern, Buttercup."

He sounded dead. And these were not words she was particularly gleeful to hear. Now feeling a little panicky with anger, Buttercup seized the Professor by the collar, and proceeded to shake him.

"Professor! WAKE UP! Smell da coffee! We _need_ you! We couldn't go on that field trip with our class cuz we couldn't afford it, because you emptied Bubbles' piggy bank for a trip to that weird place downtown Townsville! All we ever do for dinner these days is beg donuts from the policemen, or eat with the Mayor, and I think Ms. Bellum is kind of getting suspicous why we never eat at home! You don't want to play with us, and you're not there when-"

SMACK!

Gritting his teeth, the Professor abruptly uppercutted his daughter in her eye, sending her flying down onto the linoleum with a loud THUD. Rubbing her now brilliantly violet eye, the shellshocked little girl slowly looked up at the man now hovering over her, absolutely seething with rage.

"Don't you EVER talk to me like that again, you hear me? I'M the one whom you owe your life to, you ingrate! I hear you dare to try that again, and we'll see just what kind of stew I can make out of you to serve to your sisters!"

A smirk momentairly curved his devastated features.

"Not that anything or anyone could stand the way YOU'D taste-"

Suddenly, he broke off, and gave his hand a sober, unhappy glance, before looking again at the Powerpuff Girl cowering on the floor.

"S-See what you made me do?" he slurred, and Buttercup curled her arms over her head, wishing blindly to push it all out, safely away. "God, I...I dun...I don't even know why I come here anymore..."

"You LIVE here!" Buttercup shouted, as the man stumbled away, blindly fumbling for his keys on the counter. But the Professor soon fumbled for the door, and stumbled out.

Now, Buttercup sat alone on the floor, with a worse injury then she normally received from fighting enormous beasts that opened war on her city, stunned.

But worst of all were the tears burning inside now, churning beyond her aching eye.

A gentle hand fell on her shoulder, and Buttercup shuddered before she whipped around-but it was only Bubbles, staring sadly at her sister, tears already twinkling in her own blue eyes.

Immediately, Buttercup felt anger. How DARE she walk in NOW and see her in weakness? Like some stupid Vulture, she'd waited to see Buttercup in her worst shame: Brought down by a human's punch-and by their Father, who'd never, EVER hit them before.

Ever.

Bubbles closed her eyes, looking suddenly much, much older than how she truly was. Buttercup would have snorted at the image of the sad old woman in the little girl's body if she didn't feel so angry and so ready to kick and so desperate and so alone and so...so...

"Oh, Buttercup."

Buttercup only forced out a laugh. It sounded strangled.

"Nothing a bit of ice won't fix, so you can cork your cryhole already."

But Bubbles had already received her sister in a hug, and, after a few moments of halfhearted struggling, Buttercup gave up, and buried her face in her sister's shoulder, unwilling to let anyone see her cry.

"Blossom says that it's wrong to want to hit your Dad," Bubbles said softly, her voice cracking like a broken harpstring. "I guess we're both wrong, then."

The tears came.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

During a particularly ferocious battle, Him looked into Bubbles' heart, and laughed in delight with what he found.

That hadn't saved Him from a fiery beatdown from all three of the girls, but he continued laughing all the same. And all the while, he seemed to grow larger, and larger, and larger, clawed, demonic sense smiling like a deranged clown from the circus-like the ones the Professor had soothingly told her wouldn't harm her, once upon a time.

Him's laughter followed them from School, which, while a safe haven from home, was no longer a happy place. After the Professor's threat with her crafts, Bubbles wondered if perhaps the cause of the Utonium Family's unhappy household was because she didn't _contribute_ enough. Whatever that word meant. Blossom had tried to explain it to her, but it hadn't made much sense.

So, Bubbles' stopped painting, making collages, making stuffed rabbits, picture frames, bird feeders...and focused instead on her classwork. During Art, she often complained of a tummy ache, sometimes genuine, sometimes not-so that she wouldn't have to participate. Though while Bubbles' papers slowly got better, and stickers began piling onto her excellent Language Arts papers, it still didn't make the house any happier. It was still a gloomy place-and the lights didn't work in a lot of the rooms, now. (The Professor had stopped paying the electric bill.) There was nothing to keep out Closet Monsters kick-kick-kicking, and reaching out with ghoulish hands in her dreams. Worst still was the omnipresent sense of emptiness, both in her heart, and in her stomach.

Snack time could not come fast enough for the girls these days. Luckily, Pokey Oaks provided Animal Crackers or a Granola Bar or an apple every day with some juice, and it had now become a favored pasttime of the girls' fellow students to watch and see which Puff would devour the entire contents of her food, first.

Ms. Keene had always eyed the spectacle with some suspicious light in her eyes, which made Bubbles nervous. While she had, at first, entertained the idea of talking to Ms. K about the troubles at home, Blossom and Buttercup had immediately gave her flat-out NOs.

"You gotta to wait it out, Bub," said Buttercup wearily, as they watched their fellow playmates run carelessly about the playground, gaily as birds. She was scuffing up her shoe against the cement, and not quite looking at her sisters, though in her defense, one eye was too swollen to make out much of anything. The girls had decided to tell the Mayor, their friends, and Ms. K that Buttercup had been slugged by a giant monster covered with boxing gloves. Of course, Buttercup had insisted giving a lengthy explanation on just how badly she'd injured her assailant in response each time the story was told.

Blossom only smiled; there were dark circles under her eyes.

"It's all going to be alright, Bubbles," the little girl said reassuringly, as Bubbles' wide blue eyes turned to her. "We just have to be patient for a bit-and then, everything will be alright, again."

"When?"

"I dunno. When the Professor feels better."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know."

"But how come-"

Blossom rolled her eyes, looking frazzled and exhausted.

"Look! I don't KNOW, okay! Geez, just..."

Blossom buried her face in her hands, desperate to regain her composure.

"I'm sorry I yelled," she responded, almost mechanically. "Look, Ms. Keene has already sent THREE notes home, and if this keeps up, she'll try calling the Professor again! Bubbles can't keep mimicking his handwriting forever, so we have to perk up a bit in class."

"Don't see what there is to perk up about these days." Buttercup grumbled. Neither of her sisters argued with her.

"I STILL say we should tell her," Bubbles piped up, sounding anxious. "Or Miss Bellum. She'd never let anything bad happen to us."

"What about the Professor?" Blossom quipped back, scowling. "If this kind of thing gets out, then he'll get really, really mad. Because we'll have made a lot of trouble for him for nothing!"

"Like when he hit you with that meat cleaver last night?"

Blossom shivered.

"Yeah. That mad."

"But I thought he was just sad-that he wasn't doing anything wrong."

"He isn't."

"So why would he get in trouble?"

Buttercup huffed.

"Oh, please. I...well...he..."

Blossom whipped around to face her sister, expression grave.

"The villains will think we're losing strength as a team, and they'll try to wipe us all out! And the media will make a big fuss out of a sad man, and we'll get in trouble. So-" (Blossom drew a hand over her mouth) "Zip it. Be brave."

Bubbles exhaled, looking at the small cut on her knee that she'd told Ms. Keene that she got from playing hopscotch. Bubbles had tried-most unsuccessfully-to rouse the Professor into being happy again with a song and dance routine that had ended rather early and rather messily.

These days, the Professor seemed to have given himself up no longer to Science, but to complete and absolute debauchery. He was scarcely not drinking the ick, (That's what Buttercup had called it) and he sometimes went away for hours on end, his clothes all loose and messy once he returned. Twice, the girls had had to go out looking for him. One time, he'd been lying outside of a bar, and the second, well...Bubbles had tried to draw the rather Gross place with lots of loud music, and had her paper promptly snatched by Ms. Keene, who said she wanted to keep it under 'closer observation.' But, as she hadn't mentioned anything about it again, Bubbles supposed that it would be alright.

Bubbles heard her stomach growl, and she sank to the asphalt, cradling her shrinking tummy.

"I'm hungry."

"You just ate."

"I know. But we didn't eat dinner with Ms. Bellum last night."

Buttercup kicked a nearby ball that had rolled up to them. "That's because Genius said that Miss B is gettin' suspicous. She tried inviting us over for a 'Girls' Night Out Dinner and Slumber Party.'"

"I think that would have been lots of fun."

"But she said that we had to talk. It's been enough that we've managed to avoid her for three days, now. Hopefully, she'll have forgotten about da...whatever it is when we see her again."

Bubbles looked at her reflection in a nearby window, wondering who the three quiet girls were nearby...only to realize that it was her and her sisters.

Upon hearing the bell ring, the girls slowly trudged back to the building, not bothering to fly, as they normally did.

A pair of eyes watched them from the window.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

"And so, I'd like to commission this statue of Townsville's most beloved heroes as the..."

The Mayor rambled on, while Blossom stared at the table of refreshments awaiting the townsville inhabitants after the ceremony, feeling weak inside. She was so, so tired...and she knew she ought to be hungry, but at last, the sharp hunger pains she felt these days were usually alleviated by a tin of tea bags that the girls had scrounged for in the very back of the cupboards. Now, all she ever wanted to do was sleep. Not constantly study or worry. Not listen to Bubbles' cheerful song become morose stillness. Not have to deal with the repurcussions of Buttercup taking out her vengeful feelings on criminals...and get horribly beaten up in her weakened state.

The sun was so, so warm...and she was so sleepy...she swayed slightly, stumbling slightly in line on the Mayor's platform where they stood before a large cloaked pedestal, where smiling statues that now didn't look the least like the girls were waiting.

"...and OH, how I wanted a pony..."

Still standing before the multitudes, Blossom started to sway again, and a bush of warm orange hair turned; Blossom forced herself to straighten up, sweat running down her brow just as she turned to look at Bubbles, who was deathly pale, now. And not from nerves.

"...and so, I unveil this Statues to you in tribute to Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup, the PPG!"

As the multitude roared and applauded in approval, and the velvet drapery slipped off the marble figures at Townsville Square, Miss Bellum stepped up from behind the pergola in her glossy red shoes, and turned to look at the girls.

"Mayor? Mayor, I think-"

"-and I'm sure Professor Utonium will be THRILLED to give a speech on just how PROUD he is of his little charges! Um, Utonium! Time for you to take the stage! Please honor us!"

Silence. The Mayor tried again, after taking a look at his watch.

"Uh, ah, dear, let me see...um, Professor Utonium? Are you pre-"

"No!"

All three girls exclaimed at once, though Blossom's voice sounded like a faint whisper. Buttercup immediately took the stand, looking harried.

"Yes! Well, um, D-Dad can't be here, today, because, he, uh, is...is very busy, and, well, he loves us so much that he just told us that...he's really, really proud, and, I...yeah! Whoo-hoo!"

As the confused crowds simply applauded again politely, Miss Bellum's head whipped around once again as a small body hit the ground. She let out a panicked gasp, and all but bolted to the little girl's side, as titters and anxious people stood on their tiptoes to get a look at the recent development.

"Blossom!"

The little girl had fainted. Bubbles stood over her, her eyes dead.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

"Well...the factors seem to be sleep, heat exhaustion, dehydration, stress, and the faint beginnings of malnutrition. Whatever that man is feeding them-if anything-is absolutely _terrible_."

Ms. Keene had rushed over as soon as the Ambulance had come wailing onto the scene, and now, she and a kindly-looking Doctor were standing in a dark, cool hallway in the ER, while Miss Bellum peered over the curtains at where Blossom was lying, now changed into a pair of soft blue pajamas. Another nurse was bent over another bed nearby; Bubbles had fainted shortly before the ambulance had arrived, and another four nurses were focusing on restraining a less than cooperative Buttercup onto a bed with an IV.

"I-mrph-already TOLD you! We don't NEED your help! Mpph-leggo!"

Miss Bellum's fingertips began driving into her palms, her knuckles turning starkly white.

"Isn't there anything else we can do for them?"

The Doctor sighed.

"A good bath, some good food, a good sleep-all perfect antidotes. Though if all three are in this condition, I'd hazard a guess that they're not getting that at home."

Ms. Keene's hands flew to her face, her pale skin much more so then usual, and her eyes sparkling with tears.

"I TRIED going to their home and visiting...though no one ever answers! I shouldn't...I was about to call a Social Worker, but the girls were so adamant, and I..."

She drew her face into her hands; Miss Belum's hand went around her shoulders.

"It's just as much as my fault...the girls haven't wanted to talk to me for some time, now. And I've been noticing...strange things. Like a limp. Or a sore arm. Or a bloody nose. They never got those kind of injuries fighting crime."

Ms. Keene swallowed, her expression darkening.

"You...well, I...it's...unlikely...we broke up some two months ago...but..."

Miss Bellum began to turn around to the ER beds, but Ms. K seized her by the arm.

"Katy, they're not going to want to talk to us about that! He's their father-they adore him. They would never tell us if something were seriously wrong-"

"-which is why I need to find out. _Right now_," the Mayor's assistant said dangerously, turning around to give the girls an affectionate look.

Well, she would have.

If Buttercup hadn't already escaped through a window, her unconscious siblings riding on her shoulders, that is.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*

"Will you do the honors?"

Both women were staring up at the Utonium Household later that night.

Ms. Keene cracked her knuckles grimly.

"Gladly. Oh, I should have done this months ago."

With one swift, revolving kick, Keene knocked the door off its hinges-but it didn't give way. Instead, it slowly fell back onto an enormous pile of trash and other debris that literally oceaned the entire house by a good couple of feet.

"Good God!"

Both women simply stood there in horrified silence for a moment. Then, Keene's eyes narrowed, and she slowly lead her girlfriend inside by the hand, wielding a flashlight.

~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*~0*


End file.
